Sunday, 19 February 2017

Am I still ill?

Having a diagnosed 'mental illness' is a just get out of jail free card when acting like an arsehole. You can't accuse someone with bipolar of being a moody sod and ask them to cheer the fuck up, well you can, if you want to die a horrible death.

The thing is, people with a mental illness can't always be an arse simply because of their illness can they? I mean, I'm an arse on a daily basis and always called to account about it, I'm known as "Nasty Nick" in my place of work because I'm opinionated, if only in a tongue in cheek fashion. But what if I had bipolar, would people call me nasty to my face then? Probably not, they'd be too fucking scared for a start, either because I'd call them politically incorrect and ignorant to the effects of mental illness and take them to HR, or that I'd pummel them to within an inch of their life with the nearest blunt object I could lay my "crazy" hands on.

How do you know someone with tourettes isn't just blurting out wanker in your face just because they actually DO think you're a wanker? Should it even be viewed as a mental illness at all, maybe a prick is simply a prick, whatever the excuse.

I was trying to explain to my children the other day about the universe and how it's still expanding. I then asked them what might be outside the universe, my children looked at me for answers and the best I could muster up was "I dunno, I'll have to Google it" (I literally have no wisdom to offer my children, Google might aswell bring them up for me, if only it could tie shoelaces I'd be surplus to paternal requirements). Anyway, upon wearily gazing at my soporific brain replacement machine to find a pearl of said wisdom for my children to feast their curious minds on because daddy's brain doesn't function anymore, I found out that anything beyond the universe is still in fact, the universe, there's no such thing as "nothing", even nothing is something and every something is part of the universe. I'm not sure what this has to do with the mentally ill being dickwads, it was supposed to be the perfect analogy, but it has become an exercise in advertising why you shouldn't drink too excessively in your 20's. I guess what I might have been trying to say is that if you act like an arse, you are an arse, no matter your GP scribbles on your sick note.

There should be a manual to advise the mentally healthy on how to distinguish between "normal" behaviour and mentally ill behaviour, just so we know when we can legitimately punch them in the face without fear of a reprimandal guilt trip, you could call it "an idiots guide to the mentally ill", although the difference between those two subjects is nuance, maybe the mentally ill could have an "idiots guide on how to deal with idiots". It's all about equality these days, you can't be too careful. I mean, it's a well known fact that mentally handicapped people are stronger than people who aren't, what if you get mugged by one of them, are you allowed to defend yourself or retaliate? I know that might sound a tad controversial but it's the same premise. I saw a video on the news recently that had gone viral where an Australian man was criticised for punching a kangaroo in the face after said pouched thug squared up to him like a Newport pisshead. Was the kangaroo chastised and castigated by his own upon his return home, probably not....mainly because they don't have the ability to judge each other and make each other feel bad for sticking up for themselves.

Pretty soon we're going to be overrun by the mentally ill and any animal that can enter into fisticuffs. Recently, a cat stopped me in my tracks on the pavement and turned onto his back, seemingly bidding for a tickled tummy. When I obliged he turned on me and nearly ripped my hand off. The wheels are in motion people, we need to start sticking up for ourselves, the revolution has begun and it's not ISIS or Nazi's this time, it's the underdogs, mongs.....and cats.

I seemed to digress to a weird place there. Whilst I'm still vaguely skirting on the subject of equality gone mad, I thought I'd pick on some other people.

Female football commentators:

I'm sorry, but no. Call me old fashioned, stuck in my ways, chauvinistic, call me a dick for all I care, but listening to a women commentate makes me unable to take the game seriously. They sound like they're impersonating their male counterparts, it's about as natural as a finger up the arse. I keep expecting her to ask someone to explain the offside rule or mention how fit the United goalie is. There's women's football now, go and commentate on that, you've only got a job on MOTD to satisfy the suffragettes that never actually asked for a female commentator quota. Go on, piss're invading the the last remaining corner of the long lost "man's world". I'm so bitter I'm actually sweating. Why don't we have animals commentating too, I always thought it was unfair that there weren't any giraffe commentators. #giraffeshaverightstoo

Special mentions for those who get too much unnecessary praise in my humble opinion:

Paralympians - Who actually genuinely cares?

Kids who lose and still get a medal - Just stop it.

Working mums - Dad's work too, stop going on about it like you're a superhero, you had the option of 'stay at home mum', you didn't like that and now you're moaning that you have to work instead of being home with your little cherubs.

Child artists - You all suck. Adults only tell you your drawings are good to spare your feelings and encourage you. Don't get used to it though, in a few years you'll have teachers telling you you're not good enough even though you're trying just as hard as you were when you were wrapped up in cotton wool aged 3 and a half, which is all very confusing.

Anyway, back to my original point. Just so you know I'm not completely out of touch and dead inside, I know mental illness is a serious subject. I actually think I suffer with my mental state to a degree....I get very down, outright depressed sometimes and have trouble controlling my emotions in certain circumstances, but I know when it's happening and I know when I'm wrong. I also have this annoying tendency to apologise when I've said something I shouldn't have, shame on me! Maybe some people don't know when they're being selfish, or aggressive, or moody. Maybe there's no such thing as mental illness?

There are about 3 million different species of frog out there (I've done no research on that figure, but there are alot), most of them look pretty much the same, they just differ enough for scientists to justify their jobs and grants and come up with a new one. Maybe they should start doing that with humans, maybe there are just lots of different types. I'm obviously the type that thinks it's always right with delusions of grandeur. I think we'll call my one 'Dickheadus Maximus'.

You don't need to look too far to discover a new species either, a reliable place to explore is prolific arsehole finder within the "comedy genre" of the alternative world of channel 4, namely The Undatables. It should be called "The Un-how to be a dick and get away with it-ables". Viewers will laugh and cry as these "poor souls" get to grips with trying to find anyone that has given up on life enough to take them on. Why haven't I been on it yet?

If you want to get away with murder or any odius despicable preparation for being grilled in the dock, just copy the behaviours of these people and you'll get away with it on the basis of diminished responsibility because you're a lost cause and you were merely following your demonic instincts.

There seems to be a "manual" out there to get away with anything, you just need to be diagnosed with an illness first in order to join the club. I'm off to make an application, I mean my local arsehole license dealer, sorry, I mean the GP. See you on the other side you mentally healthy suckers, I'm onto a winner!

Saturday, 26 September 2015

Television doesn't get more pointless than this....

At the end of their tether and on the brink of financial meltdown, with their pantry about to burst......revealing a lardy version of Kelly LeBrock in a shell suit, eating a flaky Greggs pasty, they call upon their stringent saviour, Greg "stating the obvious doesn't get easier than this" Wallace. In the process, they shamelessly allow themselves to be revealed to the nation as a family that can't think for themselves, it's basically the hidden premise of the whole programme.

We're supposed to be the dominant species, yet all the other animals we share this dying marble with happily chow down on what nature has to offer whilst the majority of us dominant creatures scoff on vast amounts of obesity inducing churned up healthy creature slop which has been mushed together to form cholesterol filled junk that seems to be stopping the flow of blood to the brain.

If you can save £37 a year on eating slightly cheaper jam, how much jam are you bloody eating? I don't think I've spent £37 on jam in my entire life, and I've been jam-active since the age of 0.....although I don't think I bought my first jar until I left home and did my first food shop at 18, scary uncertain jam times they were indeed. Why are they eating so much jam? I like jam, I buy jam, decent jam.....but I don't base my entire existence on the stuff. Can you survive only on jam? Why doesn't someone do a "Supersize me" where someone eats only jam for a month until they resemble an ectoplasm'd Statue of Liberty circa Ghostbusters 2, the most awful sequel ever made. Or, "Man v's Jam", where the weeble-wobbling jam obsessed presenter travels the country, eating jam, talking about jam, using jam as lube. It's going to happen's a self-fulfilling prophecy of an infinite amount of galaxies, televisions, people and jam. We'll do the same with ham too, because it rhymes.....and people are suckers for poetry......let's milk the shit of this.


'Eat Well for Less' might aswell be called 'Stop buying so much food you greedy westernised rudderless conformist bastards'. I think I'd rather appear on Jeremy Kyle's daily ritual of mercilessly condescending to hapless chavtastic morons, without whom he'd probably be rubbing shoulders with at the Jobcentre. At least these chavs have the excuse of needing their appearance fee, or are they paid in Lambert & Butlers and Sports Direct vouchers? 

I mean, heaven forbid that these incapable plebs might actually use what's left of their ravaged shrunken gutter squatting minds to form some kind of logic to help them through life before calling in the 'Messiah of the food shop'. This is a primetime television programme, where families are told how to save money on their food this progress or has evolution finally come to a juddering halt?

I don't know about you, but I still expect to be entertained when I turn on my TV.....which is quite naive of me really, as it's a sensation I've not felt in at least 25 years, yet I keep going back in for more. What I do get, however, is several years closer to having a stroke every time I look in it's direction....I actually think it's worse for your health than having a deep-fried pork scratching sandwich....on toast.....with a doughnut filled crust. How many more times will I moan that there's "nothing on", before yet again, scouring back through 4000 channels gormlessly staring at the TV guide like an impoverished NSPCC poster child peering into an empty fridge, praying for a veritable feast to magically appear from the fathomless chilly void.

If you're a TV addict these days, it basically means you're addicted to watching utter dross. Why have we done it to ourselves? In the same way porn has desensitised us to promiscuous anal gapage, or how 24 hour news, "AKA 24/7 snuff movie carnage", has desensitised us to horrific moments caught on camera that once would have made our eyes bleed leading to insomnia and weekly visits to a psychiatrist, the average primetime guff has rendered us seemingly incapable of distinguishing an idiot from our very selves. 

Which all brings us full circle really. I shouldn't judge these people, the reason they're baring their desperate souls on for our entertainment is because they made the mistake of turning one on in the first place, the poor bastards never stood a chance. How about a programme called "Think more for more", where people are cajoled and encouraged to use that fabled 10% of brain activity that allegedly still knocks about in their numbskulls. 

I'm constantly told that I think too much, but when I think, I make better decisions, like buying the correct amount of relatively nutritious affordable food that I and my children need to survive. I know, I'm so rock and roll it hurts. It's a notion that some of you may have trouble comprehending, but trust me, you do have a brain, no matter what they say.

I've been tempted to sell my TV and just replace it with a massive pile of books, I know it would be life changing, but I can't do it. I have kids who are both already addicted to the bloody thing and I don't think they'd share my vision of life improvement. I suspect they'd actually disown me if they walked into a room with a book case where the monolith of entertainment used to stand.

So there we have it, I know it's ruined my life, but I still allow my children.....the absolute loves of my life, to stand in the way of the very same soul-destroying juggernaut of soporific glare that is the television. Guilt doesn't get any more painful than Greg never warned us, the cheekily grinning last standing fruit and veg selling alpha-male twunt.

Welcome to the next generation of Telly addicts.....Noel Edmunds will be turning in his grave, once he has one. Noel's coffin is the only box I want to see opened on that bloody show. I don't even have the energy to start on him today.....stay tuned my pedigree chums!

Thursday, 23 July 2015

Marriage guidance for the weary.

I'm not even sure why I've titled this blatant thought-shower, 'Marriage Guidance', actually. Does anything I say matter, does it have to be structured for it to have any relevance? What is relevance? I think I know what's making this first paragraph's ipso facto, ergo sum, evidence piece numero uno as to why I'm not married anymore. Nobody likes a rambling tit, I'm putting that on my gravestone......if I ever open up my life insurance account that is, I wouldn't expect my kids to foot the bill. Nope, if I don't leave them any cash, they can just burn me in amongst a pile of old wood chippings out the back, like when Luke cremated his "pop-pop Vader". I wonder if that means Darth Vader never took out life insurance?

Anyway, back to the thread which I haven't actually established yet. Marriage, what's all that about? More to the point.....why is it easier to pull when you're married? Ok, that wasn't cool at all, only a lothario would ask a question like that out loud and nobody could ever accuse me of being one of those. A more diplomatic way of asking said question would be, why can't I be a guilt-free lothario now I'm single, unlike the self-condemnating guilt-edged floral bouquet wielding character that I spent most of my marriage playing? Nope, that's not it either. Here goes, why do "opportunities" come your way more often when you're married? There! Wasn't so hard, was it....?

When you're married, if you're good looking enough, the hurdles you face make the Grand National look like a daddy long legs skipping over grains of salt. Christ, that's the most ridiculous comparison I've ever made, it's almost like I want this to be the worst article ever written. What I'm trying to say, is that If you're not the most aesthetically pleasing face in the vicinity, it's pretty easy to wax lyrical about your oh-so-perfect moral compass when you have a face that Joseph Merrick would have winced at. Nope, if you're ugly, just shut up.....your job is now to thank those lucky stars that someone was sufficiently petrified of dying alone that they settled for waking up next to your rubbery pork mask every day from here on in. You're the luckiest kind.....god, I wish I were a marriagised ugly.

I've pretty much done things the complete opposite of the way I should have. I left my job with absolutely nothing lined up, it all follows suit. "It's easier to find a job when you already have one", they say....hence the speech marks....I've got this writing malarkey down to a tee....or should that be down to a "t"? I'm literally unable to keep to one train of thought anymore. So, it goes without saying that if you're thinking that the grass may be greener elsewhere, then at least do some proper research on whichever lawn you're thinking of fertilising, first.....pun was purely unintentional. I was thinking parodying relationships by eulogising in purely green fingering terminology, in doing so rendering this blog entry less a relationship advice clinic and more an extract of an Alan Titchmarsh autobiography....but nobody needs to see that anymore than they should have to see this.

They always say a clean break is always best, but that only applies to bones. When it comes to romance, you can't afford to be single's the equivalent to the relationship dole queue and the stigma is just as damaging. The longer you remain there, the longer people wonder why you've been stood there so long and before you know it, you start to wonder yourself! Don't worry about me though, I have enough delusional grandeur-juice left in the tank to keep that self doubt at bay for a while yet.

Bringing things back to more rational ponderings....I think I'd make a superb marriage counselor. They say that you learn more from defeat than in victory, although I'd argue that every marriage is technically a defeat by default, it's only a matter of time until this comes to fruition....or whatever the opposite of fruition is. If so, I'm probably as close to an oracle of marriage advice as you could possibly find. If my previous comments seem to suggest bitterness or an aversion to married life in general, nothing could be further from the truth. I love the idea of marriage, how things were.

I think marriage worked when there was a dominant male race. Relationships can't work long term when both parties are constantly jostling for power and hierarchy, just look at what happened to Roy Evans and Gerard Houllier at Liverpool back in the 90's. Even lesbians have a dominant (male) partner, so if an all-female approach to relationships can't solve the mystical equation, nothing will. 

Have modern relationships outgrown the idea of marriage? I think so. I'd suggest that most couples are unhappy with their "arrangement". Whereby married couples used to stay together for fear of being treated like disgraced failures within their families and communities if they parted ways, nowadays they stay together "for the kids". What would your prepubescent-self think of that idea? Not alot, I'd imagine. As much things change in our lives, the goals that we strive for remain constant. Within this seemingly neverending struggle, we forget that our lives should be as important as the lives as the children we create. Whenever we dilute our lives to protect their innocent ones, we dilute life in general. 

If any of my readers would like relationship advice, I'm here 24/7.....that's 24 seconds, at least 7 times a week, boom boom, tschh.

Approved comments:

"Nicholas changed our lives, he brought back the love into our family" - The Smiths family.

"Were it not for Dr. Lo Turco, we'd not have a dinner table, he made it for us, dovetail joints and all, just to bring us all together at meal times" - The Family Fortunes family.

"We owe our lives to that man, what a guy." - My kids.

Disapproved comments that got through the net:

"Nick Lo Turco is a lying cunt". - Most used drop down box.

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

A load of old tat.

If there's anything that bothers me more than the usual things that bother me, it's things that people think I'm bothered about said bothersomes because they assume they know something I don't. Either it's because I'm past it or I don't really have any to speak of, apparently tattoo's are beyond my comprehension, an artform far too neauveau for my squinting judgmental windows to an increasingly bitter old soul.

No sooner have you even had the audacious richness to question the practice, anyone who's ever had one done, (which is 99% of people these days.....roughly.....I've done 0% research, the latter stat there is 100% accurate.....these bracketed titbits go on far too long and render the sentence incomprehensible, I can only apologise, my bad) lurch down your throat (yes, I remembered where I was) for merely having a difference of opinion on the subject. It's becoming a cult; a snobby clandestine reawakening that stirs an unbridled sense of elitism amongst what is basically a group of graffitied lemmings.

Although, maybe there's something good to come from this phenomenon? Perhaps we'll inadvertently eradicate racism from the face of the earth by covering our skin entirely in doodles. Colour and creed disputes will become a thing of the past as we we all walk around looking like interior design magazines blending in with our garish furniture.

God would be so proud of us, if he existed of course, vandalising your boring old blank body canvases to narcissistically etch your innermost expression into the eyes of anyone who crosses your path in your quest for uniqueness. Why did it take us so long to realise this was the best way forward? Could it be that we're just bored, have too much money and have already quenched our thirst on every other addiction that life has had to offer? You used to know where you stood with tattooed folk. They used to be weirdo's. What if this wave of body art is just proof of an almost World War Z-like frogmarch into a Twilight Zone-esque world where there's only one tattoo-less man left standing before a multi-coloured band of inky needle wielding artists disgustingly lusting over themselves to smother the last pure piece of epidermis in civilisation.

I'm not denying there are some beautiful tattoos out there, but why did we have to take it this far? We're constantly told addiction is bad.....nicotine, alcohol, flappy fish.....but nobody seems to think bankrolling previously struggling art students whilst allowing people to get addicted to covering themselves in permanent ink to express themselves is a bad idea.

How about we tattoo our babies? They're gonna end up doing it anyway so why not just get them inked-up young whilst they're not too busy, at least they won't be addicted, you'll completely skim over that, which can only be a good thing surely. We could use keyhole surgery to tattoo them pre-birth once we all finally get bored of pre-tattoo babies, it's gonna happen. "Here comes little Abigail sporting some lovely floral sleeves and barbed wired leg, such a beautiful tattoo, ahem, I mean baby....almost forgot about the human inside that thing for second."

How about tattooing your pets? Everyone loves a pampered pooch, how about shaving said pooch and get some tats inked onto that bad boy, he'll be the talk of the kennels with that doggy-art when you're away on your hols staying out of that pesky sun to avoid ruining your own. There's a whole market untapped here, this blog is becoming a mine of business opportunities, feel free to take what you want.......I'm an unselfish oracle of business acumen and believe in sharing my wealth of wisdom with all of my barely a handful of readers, safe to say my secrets are safe within these pixilated walls of online douchebaggery.

They're already tattooing eyeballs, how about parts of the body that you can't see? You could get poems tattooed onto your intestines, limericks tattoed onto your urethra, your online passwords and bank card PIN tattooed on your rectum, nobody would even wanna look in there no matter how much they wanted to empty the contents.....of your bank account I mean, don't lower the tone.

I'm looking forward the day you're all in rehab for your arty-afflictions, muttering to yourselves how wish you remembered what a sun-tan looked like whilst you sweat off the last of your protein shake. Maybe they'll let you colour in your straight-jackets for old-times sake. I'm actually thinking of cornering the market and inventing a type of therapy for the soon-to-be-known-as "post covering up myself in inky applications of artistic expressions that looked good at the time but now feels like a bad dream and a huge embarrassing mistake disorder".....the name is a work in progress, even the acronym is a mouthful, I'll be working on that as studiously as curing this generation of this shallown addiction to aesthetics. 

What's wrong with you all? In the 60's, them lot were addicted to pot, the 70's was spiked with acid. I seem to remember a bag of glue becoming the choice of drug in the 80's, the height of bad taste, par for the course back then. Ecstasy entranced the 90's, cocaine became widespread in the brave new cosmopolitan millennium. Then what? You got addicted to body art? You should be bloody ashamed of're a disgrace to addiction. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cross-stitching to do and my last Werthers awaits before I take my teeth out.

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